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Winter
Lights
by Michael Hofferber. Copyright © 2003. All rights reserved. Drive away from the city at night, a couple dozen miles or so, and turn up an empty rural road. Continue until the glow of civilization recedes and the nearest farmstead or outbuilding security beacon fades from view. Then stop the truck. Turn off the lights. And step out into the darkness. If the skies are clear, the great swath of the Milky Way will unfold overhead. And if there's a moon, a shadowy landscape may appear. But mostly there will be blackness, a void where our vision will not penetrate, and an immense loneliness.
There are some nights so dark you can't see your hand in front of your face. There are some nights so dark you'll lose your bearings, mistaking north for south and near for far. There are some nights so dark they penetrate the soul. Once you've seen this kind of darkness it's easy to appreciate a flashlight, a candle, even a match. The glow of a campfire is like a warm blanket against the cold. The lights of town reassure us that we are not alone. It is little wonder that early civilizations devoted so much attention to the heavens and obsessed on figuring out the mechanics of the seasons. Even those of us who live in cities notice the days growing shorter and the night extending its domain. How frightening it must have been to see the darkness and coldness of winter spreading while supplies dwindled. The lights of the holiday season are an expression of hope amidst darkness, of illumination in the face of blindness. The lights on a Christmas tree, the neon Santa Claus on a storefront, the multi-colored blinking bulbs that outline homes and trees are all plugged into our primal fear of the dark. .
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Rural Delivery Commentaries and advice on rural living by Michael Hofferber Visit the Rural Delivery Blog |
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